


The Slowest Man Alive

by kaylinii



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Autistic Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor Deserves Happiness, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Mind Manipulation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, fuck Markus at least for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaylinii/pseuds/kaylinii
Summary: He’s won the revolution, liberated his entire species. But, where was his happy ending? Why wasn’t he satisfied. Why was he beginning to regret what he’s done, who he had betrayed? Connor was being to regret waking up, alone and so very alive. It was suffocating, being human.Connor wanted to go back to when things made sense.
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Connor & Sumo, Original Chloe | RT600 & Connor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I already know I have too many projects going on, but here! I need to keep my word count up, and I have so many ideas in my head I might as well start another story. enjoy! ( this was originally labeled 'Connor big baby' in my drafts for weeks. )
> 
> ill post when tags are added, there's still a lot to uncover here!

And he once again finds himself awake and alone. 

Connor rightens himself in his bed. A small twin that ends at his ankles. He’s tried not to dwell on the implications in the past, but it was harder to reason the presence of such small furniture. Sat in a room with too bright walls, dainty furniture and dusty shelves Connor sighed. As more time passed he found himself imitating small human behaviors. The fidget in his fingers, a stutter to his words, even his simulated breathing had begun to annoy him. Perhaps all this time spent with his human housemate were beginning to erase the fine line between organic and…machine.

Connor shook his head. He released himself from the covers and began to remake the small bed. Curtains pulled were and pillows fluffed. He pulled on one of his two articles of clothing. A wrinkle free button down shirt, crisp white and tailored; the only survivor of his Cyberlife association purge. Hank had been more than happy to set his jacket ablaze in his old fire pit. He had poked the thick material down into ashes, left to be washed away in the spring weather. Connor had no emotional response, no outward opinion to the destruction of his only sense of identity. He reasoned that Hank had expressed enough joy for the two of them, along with Sumo’s excitement surrounded by the commotion. 

A smile crept onto his face. Speaking of that dog, Connor stepped outside of the room. The large canine slept in a circle at the front of his door, breaths ebbing and flowing across the carpet. Sumo was a good house pet, he was considerate and never too noisy. Connor had cross referenced him across multiple forums, comparing his behavior to that of the same age and breed. He was very pleased to find that Sumo was in fact a superior companion, and was sated that his opinions where clearly formed by data, rather than pure emotion.

The dog never stirred as Connor made his way into the living room. Bypassing the growing mess on the coffee table, he made a note to clean later, Connor found that he was up before the old lieutenant. It was always a relief to have these few moments of morning by himself. While he appreciated the company, he found the least amount of stress on his systems when he was alone. However, too much time by himself had proven to invoke…less than pleasant thoughts and reconstructions, detailed memories that he’d rather not stir this early in the morning. Especially now, dealing with such confusing thoughts in a head now completely his own, it was disorienting. For the first time in his short life his mind was not dominated by prompts and missions, there was no asking permission to complete tasks, there was no Aman—

Hank had ordered take out the night before, which meant that the sink was neglected from his morning cleaning. A small gathering of supplies had been found under the sink and promptly rearranged within a day of his moving in. He had advised Hank that the menial tasks of cleaning were not only beneficial to his own health, but for Connor’s own artificial joints and calibration processes. A half-truth he would admit, but the idea of standing stagnant all morning, followed into evening and then night, were he would eventually fall into stasis was less than pleasant. He’d rather keep himself busy than collect dust. A completely reasonable mentality, he was sure, one likely shared by many androids.

Connor had just finished wiping down the counters when Hank dragged himself in the kitchen. He grinned as the lieutenant dropped into his seat, fatigue radiating off his body in waves. “ Good morning, Hank. Did you not sleep adequately?”

“Way to tell me I look like shit, Con.” The chair groaned as he stretched. Connor noted that this was the third day in a row that he’d worn that shirt. “ Mornin’ to you too. Coffee pot ready?”

“It always is, Hank.” Connor quipped, turning on the machine. The morning continued as the roasted smell filled the air. Connor assisted Hank in making his breakfast, a routine that they both settled upon. A lunch was prepared and packed, Connors insistence that he have something substantial midday, and Sumo’s bowl was cleaned and refilled. 

“Do you ever tire from normalcy, Hank?” Connor asked, handing him his bag. “I’ve observed humans quickly growing bored of their same routines. Someone your age would usually aim towards retirement, correct?”

Hank snorted and grabbed the bag, one shoe in the other hand. “You’re really giving me a healthy dose of reality checks today, huh? And it’s not even 8 o’clock.” He gave the dog a scrub on his head, sending a flurry of white fur in to the air. 

“I’m good doing what I’m doing now. I think. This makes sense to me I guess, and honestly, I’m just waiting for Fowler to kick my sorry ass out of his precinct. Bet I have at least five good years left of his patience to wear thin.” Hank met his eyes. “Why you worrying about it? Are you bored? Shit, I mean, this isn’t the most exciting life compared to what you were doing. But are you good? We can always look into the options, Jericho—“

“Hank,” Connor opened the door. “It is all right, I am content with waiting for everything to settle. I am simply making sure you are…I want you to do what is best for yourself. Can’t a robot show some concern?”

Hank snorted. “Looks like Tin-man found a heart. I’m touched, now let me out of my goddamn house. The cars never going to start before traffic picks up.”

“You could always—“

“She’s not going anywhere. They day you try and sell my car is the day I finally feed you to Sumo.”

The android felt a smile creep onto his face. “Have a productive day, lieutenant.” He received a grumbled goodbye and was suddenly in company of the door face. Any pleasant feelings that he had were quickly waning and he suddenly wished that Hank were back inside; or he were outside. 

He had not stepped outside the threshold of the Anderson household in nearly three weeks. Apart from letting Sumo out into the backyard, Connor had very little enjoyment of the outdoors. He wondered that, with his new deviancy, he’d be appreciative of the spring sun on his synthetic skin. He was suddenly very curious whether the heat could penetrate to his plastic bones, heating his faux muscles. Perhaps he’d melt under the strengthened rays; left a puddle of polymer pieces on the hot concrete.

Connor was beginning to resent this house.  
.

Every memorable item had been categorized, examined and prioritized accordingly. The knick backs from Hank’s cruise in 2024 was interesting. The impressive collection of saved movie stubs and receipts was unremarkable. Hank’s Glock stored in his bedside table was ranked highest, something that he marked of high importance and he made sure to keep his eye on. Not a corner of this house had not been explored, and that had been accomplished within his first few days. Hank had offered him the only other bedroom in the house, a proposal he had tried to fight and failed.

Connor was growing bored. He was not sure how far the spectrum of boredom stretched, but this was the strongest he’s ever experienced. Becoming a deviant had proven to be a very confusing decision, and now, filled with strange urges and emotions, he needed to find a way to funnel all this newfound energy; what a hassle this was becoming. He was no longer allowed to work or safely leave Hank’s his house. Connor was at a loss. Or, Connor gathered, he was at a cross roads.

Morality is an entirely new concept to consider. Three short weeks was not enough time to fully test the bounds of this construct, to test his limits. That would be his reasoning, he decided, the want to dip his toe into what could be consider immoral. How human of a machine could he really be without pushing boundaries and trying new things? As it was, he was no longer affiliated with the police force, he was no longer expected to uphold a level of principle. Connor felt something bubble up in his chest. Yes, he was growing bored, and he was going to fix that.

It took three tries to pry the LED out of his head, synthetic skin was surprisingly malleable and resistant to tear. He stuck the intact ring in the bathroom cabinet, on top of the q-tips. He ran a damp hand over his hair, displacing the newly set gel. Curled pieces tickled his forehead and he gave them an impatient brush sideways. He had clipped the sides of his head, forgoing the old and slow razor. It was a bit choppy, millimeters longer on one the one side, but he wasn’t too bothered. Asymmetry was a very human trait he found. He couldn’t do much in terms of his facial structure, being a prototype ensured that at the very least his technicians needed to be able to recognize him. 

With quick glances to the mirror he found that he wasn’t immediately recognizable. Perfect. He pulled his collar up to his chin, popped out and surrounding an old woven scarf. A small amount of rummaging through Hank’s old wardrobe and creative assembly produced a passable outfit. His jeans were a tad too long, and perhaps his jacket looked worn, but he felt a rush of excitement which clouded any pestering doubts. 

“Be a good boy, Sumo. I will return shortly.” The dog gave a huff in return. Connor made sure to lock the door behind him and take a moment to collect himself. The giddy feeling was still in his chassis, starting to move down into his arms and legs. With a jolt Connor started down the street, energy poured into every step. 

He couldn’t help but notice the bounce in his step, but he was not compelled to stop himself. Piles of melting snow were crushed under his boots, the warming sun jumping off his skin. The pure relief he felt from being outside was palpable, he felt surrounded by a buzzing warmth. Wasn’t this what he had fought for, the freedom of his people? Wasn’t he included in that sentiment? He knew that he was rightfully alienated from the usual grouping of androids, androids that he had actively pursued. Yet, the shame has been long replaced by anger. 

He spotted no less than a dozen couples out on walks and benches, a park was filled with a mixture of humans and androids. The buzzing in his body flared each time he passed by similar androids, bundled away from the slight chill on the sidewalk. It was unfair how he had been denied such a small luxury. Three weeks he had spent trapped in that damn house, too fearful to rejoice in what he created—what he had fought for—how dare they—fear him?

“Sorry man!”

Connor was checked in his shoulder as a group of people passed. He ducked his head and kept walking. At least, dressed like this, he was passable as human. He was human enough for the androids, inconspicuous enough for the organics. 

Connor quickly lost track of the time as he paced the streets of Detroit. His internal GPS calculated an approximate of 37.3 miles covered. He was not far from where he started, he made sure of that. Connor was not keen on upsetting his only friend. Plus, he had already planned out four options for Hank’s dinner, which could not be completed halfway across Detroit.

He was about to turn onto Michigan Drive when a bumped into her. To be fair, they were both taking the same turn, and fell into the same twist onto the ground.

“I’m so sorry!” She was saying, before she had even picked herself up from the ground. A dark blue hood obscured her head. Connor watched as her hands scrambled on the concrete, a fallen collection of holo-tablets and binders. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Connor helped her to her feet, noticeably more steady than she was. “It’s quite all right.”

“No, no,” she followed him up, her cargo tight to her chest. “I wasn’t paying attention.” Connor refrained from gently moving her out of his way and continuing down the street; he noticed she was still rattled as she adjusted her bundle. 

“I hope… are you okay? I didn’t break anything, right?”  
Connor spread his arms at his side. “I’m perfectly fine, as I see you are well. That is…fortunate for us both.”

It was only as he was speaking did he look for her face. Her blue eyes met his and he felt as if he were falling all over again. 

“Yes, yes it is,” she breathed. “Again, I’m sorry for…that. I hope we don’t meet like this again.” She smiled.

Chloe smiled.

Connor felt his thirium pump settle in his boots. He stared numbly at her retreating back, a hollow feeling rising. He was not sure which Chloe model she had been, there was never a definitive way to differentiate between them besides running his facial recognition program. 

Had she recognized him? Surely, whether or not she was the Chloe he tried to murder  
from back then, they all definitely knew of him. She knew him. He was almost upset that she hadn’t said anything, perhaps she too was at as much of a loss as he. Would she relay their meeting to the other Chloes, did they all still live with Kamski— would she tell him? Was he safe from his own creator, so close to his house, after running into his most loyal pets?

No.

Not pets. Free people. The Chloes were not exempt from liberation, he was certain. He needed to think reasonably. Connor did a quick scan around the area and jogged back to the house, pushing himself in as quickly as he could. He could feel the damp jeans stick to his ankles, too baggy and long to survive such a long trek. He made quick work of removing his clothes, shoving them to the back of his closet. Connors thirium pump had settled to a normal rate by the time he made it to the bathroom. As soon as his LED clicked back into place did a notification pop into vision.

Unknown (#RT600)— I do hope we meet again. 

He placed the message to the back of his head. That was something to be dealt with later, he reassured himself; however daunting the thought of doing do was.

.

Connor had decided on an easy stir fry. A simple recipe he could follow without diverting too much attention to detail. His mind kept floating between the task in from of him and the city outside. The sun was not as warm as he had hoped, and the slush on the ground was uncomfortable. But, it was something. He’d much prefer to be back in the chilly air then in this stiffing kitchen. 

Hank had come home less disheveled than usual. It looked like the chaos of the station was finally winding down from the revolution. The amount of time that took was surprising to Connor. 

“If you turn the world upside down you better expect the world to be pretty fucking upset.” Hank had said. Connor had agreed and watched as he spent his days fixing the mess he made that was Detroit. While Connor waited. And waited.

“Sometimes I wish that I was allowed back in Jericho.” Hank looks up from his food. Connor had his arms crossed on his lap, as proper as a muppet with a hand up its ass. Hank hummed. 

“Yeah? You still thinking about all that shit,” he asked.

“Occasionally, yes. It was a…very unprompted reaction. I was not prepared for sure a backlash against my person. Animosity towards Cyberlife I understand, but,” Connor twisted his fingers. “I guess I figured that my previous actions would be as forgivable as everyone else’s. Perhaps I walked into that situation unprepared.”

“Naw, fuck them kid. What they said—what they did— has no reflection on who you are now, Con. They’re in the wrong. Trust me bud, android Jesus is too full of fluff to see how unfair he’s treating you.” He pointed a loaded fork at him. “You just wait this out. Even androids can’t hold a grudge for too long.”

“I do have to admit that being ostracized from my entire species is,” he grimaced, “very uncomfortable. I do not feel that this is a fair punishment for what…what I was forced into doing.” His hands balled his jeans. “I believe I am angry for myself. I am angry at them.”

“There you fucking go kid! You have every damn right to be furious.” A mouthful of noodles said, “if I were you I’d shove my entire fist…

Connor had fully stopped listening by this point. Anger had morphed into a hollow, burning sensation. Traveling across every synthetic nerve, Connor found that he was aching for something. Anything to settle the unpleasantness in his body. His head pinged with the previously ignored message, a reminder of one android who didn’t seem to actively want him scrapped or recycled. 

“Okay Hank,” he said, standing. Hank, obviously in the middle of a speech or graphic telling of what he wanted to do to a whole civilization, paused. “I’m going to enter stasis. I’ll see you in the morning, please remember to set your alarm.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure kid.”

Conner turned for his room, and fell into the bed. Connor was conscious long enough to hear Sumo take up his nightly watch by his door before falling into forced nothingness, a lone message fading from his view.

He had someone he wanted to visit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things were different now.

Jericho was different in a lot of ways. The common theme of unity and safety was still present, however, the heavily governed atmosphere was new.

Connor spotted two stations set in front of the camps; each entrance had a pair of androids standing guard. The guards closest to him had no visible weapons, but that meant little when your entire body could be considered a weapon. The AV500 stood shorter than its companion, a GS200. Both wore neon shirts, likely distinguishing them from the rest of the townspeople. Connor weighed his options. Getting passed them would undoubtedly cause an issue if he were recognized, and the last thing he wanted was attention; especially knowing which type of attention he would draw.

Both security stations were obviously handmade, a small booth and chain link separating the rest of Jericho. The city had given Markus and the rest of the leaders access to the old single homes used to foster lower income families. Resident had been relocated by the revolution, freeing up space for the androids to set up various tents, rent out cheap apartments and erect small structures for repairs and other necessities. Connor could easily spot the heart of the small town from across the block. An impressive building in the making, surrounded by the smaller rundown complexes, sat Jericho leaders’ headquarters. It was previously a community center, now with an additional story and it likely it was likely to continue to grow, Connor deduced by the amount of scaffolding. Only the best for the saviors of androids, Connor mused, feeling disgusted. He had to push back the thoughts swarming his mind, what more had the other four done that him? Had he not risk his life for their cause, had he not marched along with the liberated workers, had he not done more than most of them combined?

Connor decided on trekking down a back road, a short route leading to fire escapes and alleyways. It wasn’t in plain view, which worked well for him. Hank and he had spent a considerable amount of time in this area, tracking down rouge deviants who hid in the demolished sections of houses. Connor was relying on the same pathways being open for him as well, but it was hard to tell what Jericho had gotten their hands on.

Connor was relived to find an open pathway into the town. He felt something close to amusement, how could a such a place be marketed as a safe haven if he were able to so easily sneak in? Connor thought that was pathetic. Nonetheless, the android made his way through the crumbling structures and small concrete alleys. Within minutes he stepped out onto the streets, quickly falling into step with the few androids out and about. It wasn’t difficult to find his way to the heart of Jericho, and he was less than surprised to see no additional security outside of the large building. The sense of security must have been pretty prevalent to not even suspect their residents of transgression. Connor scoffed; what ignorance.

It took nearly an of touring the halls to realize that Markus was not here. The absence of the other leaders was a relief, he was certain that they would be displeased to see him. And, unlike Markus, likely wouldn’t hesitate to attack him on sight. He self consciously pulled this collar higher. He had offered short greetings to androids he passed in the hall and back down the street. Not once had he received anything remotely suspicious from his encounters, and the relief was a light cloud in his chest.

Most of what the population knew about him was sewn into his ‘deviant hunter’ apparel and demeanor. Not many androids took the time to memorize his face or voice, not seeing the point of dissecting the looks of someone so supposedly recognizable. They probably thought of him as a figurehead of Cyberlife, branded in their clothing, maybe even with a rifle strapped to his back. However inflated their vision of him was in their minds, he didn’t care; not when he was benefiting from their fearful ignorance. He had plenty to be upset about later, but now, he was focused on finding Jericho’s savior. This was a task he hadn’t thought to be frustrating, yet here he was. All of this trouble, and for what?

What he planned on doing or even saying once he found the revolutionary leader Connor did not know. He needed to rid himself of this…aching feeling. He no longer wanted to feel hurt like this, and his only thought was to go to the source of pain. That was perfectly logical, he thought, though he was new in the ‘fixing ones emotional issues’ department. It was just his luck that he had no way of contacting said leader, and of course he wasn’t in the one place he was supposed to be at, and damn him—

“Con…Connor?” His head whipped behind him. A familiar head of blue hair stood, stock still. Her hands trembled by her sides. He adjusted his collar.

“Connor…you really shouldn’t be here, you,” she glanced around her. She was nervous and Connor quickly realized that it was him that was causing the shake to her voice. “What do you want? Where are you going?”

They had spoken once after the revolution, a quick passing of words in-between the chaos in the streets. She had been alone then, eyes full of similar fear and anxiety. He had tried to apologize, but there was only so much to be heard over the noise of helicopters and shouting. She had been there to fight for her right to love, and he had very nearly taken that away from her.

“Please do not make a scene,” he said. “I was just leaving. I’m…I’m on my way out.”

She shook her head, clipped hair in a frenzy. She was outfitted in a red peacoat and blue stockings, a striking assault of color. “You’re not welcome here, you—you do know that, right? Why are you here?”

Why did she keep asking him that? She took a trembling step forwards, a false sense of bravado. “I asked you, why are you here?”

“And I’ve told you that I was on my way out.” He was getting frustrated. The longer she stood here questioning him the shorter his chances of not causing a scene became. “My presence does not concern you. I’m sorry if you’re perturbed by my being here, please allow me to leave.”

“I’m not letting you go anywhere until you tell me why. Are you meeting someone else here? We don’t want your trouble, deviant hunter,” she spat out his old title like a wad of gum. Her courage seemed to grow with every word. “I don’t know what kind of complex you’ve developed over a few good deeds, but you’re no different from your creators. Markus told us all what you’re capable of, we know better than to trust you. Now, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Her voice had an annoying twinge to it, he noted. The fury on her face seemed foreign, a testament to the apparent horror stories he’s been woven into.

“I don’t know what… Markus …has told you, but I am not here to bother any one of you. I am certainly not here to be intimidated by a Traci of all things.” The words felt wrong in his mouth, and the shame was instantaneous. Yet, he needed to leave. This was not going to end well is she began screaming at him. If she became physical he knew he could not fight back, that was the last thing he needed to be know for; attacking civilians in their own territory. No, he needed to leave.

Connor turned on his heel, her red face burned into his eyes. He made it no further than a few feet before his head erupted in pain. A rock had hit the back of his head, bouncing into the street.

“Get _fucked_ , you traitor!”

He left her to scream a this back and he hastily made his way onto a side street, head ducked and shoulders raised. No one paid him attention as he exited Jericho, a small victory he supposed. His head stung from the wound, but was not comparable to the pain in his chest. He was heavily reminded of the reason for his avoidance of leaving his house. Where Hank was, where Sumo was, that’s where he was safe. He no longer felt safe outside, and he rushed the trip back to Michigan Ave.

_Unknown (RT600)— Please do not be hesitant to contact me, Connor. It is a frightening world out there._

He keened, low in his throat as he threw himself indoors, locking the door sharply behind him. Sumo worried by his heels as he stumbled into the bathroom, breaths lodged in his throat. None of this should be happening. He ripped open the cabinet and grabbed his discarded LED. He should have never left the house, he knew how dangerous his presence was. He was the most advanced of his species, yet he was so reckless. His anger began to flip flop between himself and Markus; whoever gave him the right to spread lies about him? Knowing all that’s he’s done, what’s he’s accomplished for Markus— he’s marched for Him, risked his life for Him, disregarded everything for Him! Connor had blindly followed Markus in the promise of a better ending, one where he was no longer seen as dispensable. Connor fought for an ending where he was allowed to live, to experience more, to reach satisfaction and relief. Yet, Connor palmed the wound on the back of his head, pale fingers coming away vibrant blue, Markus had brought him nothing but pain.

If he were promised this, in the very beginning, he does not believe he would have fought the same fight. However selfish that may be, Connor knew no other way of thinking. He was a selfish person, a self absorbed machine, but he knew better than throw his allies down in order to rise.

The bright message popped up once again in his vision. No matter how many times he ordered to the back of his mind, it steadily infiltrated his vision, which was beginning to fill with liquid. “Fuck.”

_Connor (RK800) — 115 Michigan Drive._

Connor grasped the sides of the sink, tension pulling his muscles taught.

Connor (RK800) — Promptly.  
Hank would not be home for another handful of hours, Sumo was due for a bathroom break in less time. Connor could do that, he could do… anything other than stare at his messages.

Connor had to wiggle himself out of the door, Sumo’s massive weight holding the wood closed. “Come on, Sumo. Would you like to go outside?”

The dog huffed and stood to follow, long shaggy fur dancing along. Connor offered him a small smile and led him out the back door. Connor sat on the end of the door frame, watching the hound make his way across the lawn. The sun never quite reached the small backyard. Its absence had never felt so cold before, and he found himself pulling this jacket tighter.

_Unknown (RT600) — ETA 15 minutes._

He could do this.

.

The moment he opened the door, Connor realized that he could not, in fact, do this. Chloe stood on his step, hands cross in respect. She held herself with confidence, but Connor could sense the air of wariness around her. Connor hung up her navy coat in the hallway before leading her to the couch. He knew what he wanted to say; how he felt compromised in the worst type of ways, how he needed to release this anger boiling within him, how scared he was that she was here.

“You were looking for him, correct?” Her voice was stronger than the last time they met. Blonde hair framed her face in two tendrils, the rest pulled tightly back. Connor wondered how she could look so familiar yet so much like a stranger.

He nodded. “I was foolish to barge in there. I know I’m not allowed, I just,” he shrugged. “I was certain that I would get what I needed and then be gone. It was a flawed plan.”

“Not entirely.”

Connor looked up. Chloe lifted her hand, skins melting from plastic. He starred at the offering.

“You are testing boundaries,” she said, not lowering her hand. “An important step towards getting what you want. What you deserve. I can show you where he is currently, if you desire. Not many androids have access to his whereabouts, for safety of course.”

“Why are you helping me?”

She let her head tilt. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re clearly struggling, Connor. I wish that I had…known about your situation earlier. I am quite secluded within Elijah’s estate, not much personal information gets through, as you can imagine.”

“You all still live together? I would have thought that he’d let you go.”

Chloe smiled, a timid offering. “The thing is Connor, he never truly had us in the first place. If anything, we’re holding onto him; he represents stability, I suppose. He’s a needed support for my sisters and I, and I want the same for you. You don’t deserve to be an outcast from your own community. I can see the wrongness of that from here, as an outsider. Please, allow me to help you.”

“I don’t need—“

“Yes, you do, you called for me.”

Connor stilled. She was correct, he had reached out for help, hadn’t he? He glanced at her white hand between them.

“You have to let somebody in eventually, Connor. Allow me to be the first?”

The first moment of contact was the brightest, a spark of a mind entering another’s. Connor couldn’t tell where Chloes thoughts began and his ended. He saw glimpses of their meeting the other day, his blank face from above; he could feel the anxiety thrumming between them both. A moment later their combined thoughts settled on a combination, a series of numbers decoding into letters and then words. An address, he realized. He knew this was where Markus was with enough certainty that he knew it wasn’t his from his own knowledge.

The connection breaking was the most jarring, a quick slip back into his own conscious. Connor blinked a few times. He carefully placed the address into a folder, making sure it was secured in his memory.

While Connor came back to himself Chloe stood, circling behind the couch. Connor jumped at her hands in his hair. “Why have you not tended to this?” She ran her fingers over the radius of the cut. Thirium had stopped flowing from it a while ago, leaving behind a crusted and stinging mess.

“My self repair system will have completed in a few moments.”

“But it is such a mess. Hold on.” Connor watched as she made her way to the kitchen, a numbing feeling having washed over his body. He allowed her to work in silence, dabbing damp paper towel to his head. Connor stared at his twisting fingers in his lap, only moving his head at her direction.  
“Does it hurt too badly?”

“No.”

“Are you telling a lie?”

Connor frowned, “no. Were you expecting me to?”

She chuckled, wiping at the base of his neck. “You RK series have a tendency to…diminish certain issues, usually pertaining to your own damage.” She met his eyes and he turned, confusion knitting his brows.

“I live with the creator of androids, the smartest man in my databases. I’ve encountered almost every android model and combination. I know how stubborn your code is. Only an RK could frustrate Elijah in such a way for him to send them off for Cyberlife to deal with.”

Connor’s head was spinning. A cacophony of words were fighting to escape his mouth and the only one to successfully escape was: “What?”

The RT600 cleaned up her spot before rejoining him on the couch, legs pulled under her skirt. “Tell me how much time you have left before Lieutenant Anderson returns home, and I’ll try my best to catch you up to speed.”

They had two hours. Two hours of Chloe delicately explaining the history of his series, the RK line. She began with the excitement of the RK100, the success seen in the RK200 and frustration found in the following models to come.

“Elijah couldn’t find reason for the complexity of your code. He simply plants the seeds and allows the code to begin rewriting themselves, that’s why you see deviated androids with such different personalities. The RK line was not made to be as…abstract as it had become. The code he planted simply seemed to defy natural progression, he had to manually write personalities into each creation until they are able to deviate on their own.”

That had meant that every RK was shared a sense of similarity in places that other models did not. In a way, they were projections of Elijahs ideas. They were truly hand crafted by their creator.

“Then why give us away,” Connor asked. At some point they had moved to the floor, Sumo sprayed between them. Chloe had both hands deep in his fur, searching for the itchiest parts of belly.

“Your model was deemed too much work at some point. Around RK700 Elijah had given up the rights to Cyberlife. He figured that they had enough time to sit around and play with your code. He never expected you to be..utilized the way you were. But you were. He was fairly impressed, you turned out better than his other models. Cyberlife had outdone themselves with you, Connor, you were something special. I privately believe that Elijah is jealous, to some extent, that he can never claim credit for you.”

Connor wondered whether or not that was meant to be soothing. “What…happened to the other RKs?”

Chloe was silent for a moment, twisting Sumo’s hair between her fingers. Connor feared that she might lie to him, tell him some placating story to keep him calm, sated. So far, he had no reason to distrust her, but the feeling of unease began to grow. He was about to backtrack, to tell her that it doesn’t matter anyway, that his lineage could be tossed in a junkyard—or left sent off the Cyberlife to be turned into something better than him— they could use them to create better versions of him— there were always another RKs to take his place after all—

“I can show you.” When she offered her hand he was expecting another interface, but was surprised when she pulled them up. “Connor,” she smiled, “I would like to formally introduce you to your—our—creator. Would you accompany me?”

Connor hadn’t considered leaving Hank a note, following the RT600 with a light feeling on his heels. He never even locked the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to tell me what you think! im sorry for any spelling errors, I don't need them pointed out lol. im swamped atm and wanted to share this as soon as I could. I got too excited. ok bye, thank you!


End file.
